Shuttle Bus 17: A Poetry Collection

The Worst In Me

You shepherded out the worst in me.
I sinfully complied to your ophidian tongue,

Which wrapped around my waist, as I

Layed bruises on your neck with my lips.
Mistake upon mistake was made, without

A single ounce of remorseful forgiveness,

You were once my pillar, the summit of

Any fleeting thought I left washed ashore.

I left my own story incomplete, the quill pen

Still dripping with unspoken words,
The sinks of a poltergeist,

Except you're binding spirit released itself, but

Now my bedroom is never going to be the same.
You gave guidance to my brutes.

You mentored them from their conception,

Now they're thrusting at my cranium,

Scorching heat, smoke releasing from my

Ears. I let them get the best I ever had.

They transformed me. We are me. I am we.

Any chance I get to caress the digits on my phone,

My forearms elongate, sizzling in my biceps.

Calling you back is a ring of Hell I shall never reenter.

Now I take steps with intentional weight, my fists

Clenched. I feel them pulsating, the tendons cackling

As they increase in size, and lower to fit the height

Of my knees.
Any chance I touch the hoodie I let you borrow,

My arms stand on eggshells, wiry hairs transgressing

Like ant beds over once bountiful grasslands.

Wearing this would equalize to laying in a grave

Filled with hot coals, where muscle peels back

As the molten skins of beets and squash.

Any chance I hear our once shared upon song,

My throat gasps as magma intersects over my

Lymph nodes, leaving my speech with nothing

More than growls and ghastly murmurs.

My ears shrieking to an angled point, as it to shred

At diamonds with the ever so slight bypass.

Listening to this is as listening to overgrown nails

Scraping kneecaps, scalpels lacing open spinal cords

As would lacing up a corset on a shrinking hip.

Any chance I feast on the mundane bargained soups

We used to raise together, feeding you in spoonfuls,

My salivary glands hiss, my profile chiseling together

To a sneering snout, as misplaced carpet strings

Glue together to make sideburns into overgrown tufts,

My vocal box electrifying like an explosive transformer,

And I am stranded to destruct into an abysmal howling

Screech.
You let the underlying motives multiply into a choir,

Into a militant army of oligarchs, forcing my

Physique to morph into their strict demands,

As I sprint with inhuman velocity, I do not let

The once worst of me ostracize my spirit,

I know what it is I shall make due with now,

I want the savory stench of avenging me.

We are in brief succession of getting what we wish,

Revenge.